Below Your Feet
by coveredinbees14
Summary: A one-shot (of sorts) which came about after thinking about Boots and his comment "I spent a month there one night." Bit of violence and language so rated T just to be on the safe side.


Regaining consciousness was a bit like coming up from underwater. Boots wasn't sure how long he'd been out. He put one hand to his forehead and felt blood but it was tacky. Attempting to stand up proved to be a mistake as the sharp pain in his head made the world swim before his eyes and he sank back to his knees. Two of Spot Conlon's finest had left him in the piles of garbage under the boardwalk with no shoes, no hat, and no money.

"You're awake. That's good." A female voice interrupted his thoughts and Boots noticed a girl sitting nearby. "Thought they might've killed you."

"Almost did," Boots admitted as he gingerly checked for any broken bones. There weren't any. "You know how to get outta here?"

The girl ignored the question as she ripped a piece of fabric off the bottom of her skirt and held it out to him. He took it and held it to his head although he was pretty sure the bleeding had already stopped.

"I gotta get back to Manhattan," he tried instead. "That's where I'm from."

"I know." She rested her chin on one knee and looked at him thoughtfully. Boots noticed a raw looking cut across her cheek and a mottled yellow and green bruise that ran from underneath the cut to the corner of her mouth. It looked to be a couple of days old but there was no way of knowing. Clearly Brooklyn was a dangerous place to be regardless of gender.

"By the way, there is no way out," she told him. Boots felt his eyes widen in shock before he saw the girl break into peals of laughter. "Look at your face! Jeezus, kid. It's just Brooklyn. You can just walk out the same way you came in."

"Look, I ain't tryin' to be rude but you can either help me or I'll figure it out on my own." He was unsure of how to deal with this strange girl, but he certainly didn't appreciate her idea of a joke.

"Suit yourself," the girl said easily as she stood. "But fair warning, he knows you're here."

"Who's that?" Boots asked bravely. He figured putting up a front would be better than letting anyone know he was nervous as hell. Traveling through Brooklyn with Race was one thing, being left on his own to make his way back home was another thing.

"Spot." The girl turned her back and began to walk away. Boots mouth went dry and a sick feeling rose in his stomach at the mention of the infamous leader of Brooklyn. He cursed himself for ever letting Race talk him into spending the day at Sheepshead. Once Race started gambling he tended to lose track of time and what was going on around him. It turned out Boots would pay the price for Race getting distracted.

"Wait," Boots called out. The girl faced him again. "There's someone I need to find. You know Racetrack?"

The girl rolled her eyes. "Everyone knows Racetrack."

"Me and him stay in the same lodgehouse. I came here with him. He can explain to Spot 'bout this whole mess."

"What makes you think he's still around?" she scoffed.

"We're friends, he wouldn't just leave me here," Boots answered in a defensive tone. "How far is the track anyway?"

"He won't be there. Sun's goin' down."

"You got a better idea?"

"Race'll be up at the docks. He plays cards there sometimes." The girl sighed as she looked him up and down. She bent down and began unlacing her shoes before tossing them across to Boots. "Put 'em on. By the looks of it you Manhattan boys are too soft to be walkin' barefoot all that way."

Boots looked down at the worn pair of shoes and struggled to hide his distaste. His shoes were always a matter of pride for him. His clothes may be worn through or mismatched but he refused to walk around in shoes that had holes or scuff marks. Each night he would shine his shoes using leftover materials from his days as a bootblack.

The only good thing about the shoes was that they were meant for a boy, he could tell by the style. Boots slid the shoes on and followed the girl out from under the boardwalk and up onto the street.

"I'm Boots, by the way," he told her as they skirted past vendors and families out for the day. The girl led him quickly away from the well-dressed men and women toward the backstreets and alleyways.

"I know," the girl tossed back over her shoulder as she hurried ahead of him. The sunlight was fading and Boots struggled to keep up as he feared being left behind in unfamiliar territory at night.

"You got a name?" Boots asked. It was said newsies in Brooklyn were rude, secretive, and didn't take kindly to strangers. But he had assumed that wouldn't apply to the girls. Apparently he was wrong.

"Nosey, ain't you?" The girl stopped so quickly that Boots almost ran into her. "Look, you seem like a nice kid but you and me? We never met. Got it?"

Boots bristled at the way she referred to him as a kid. She didn't look any older than he was. If he had to put money on it, he would have said she was 14, maybe 15. And he did not appreciate being spoken to like a child by some girl dressed in rags and wandering the backstreets of Brooklyn in her bare feet.

"Fine," Boots replied shortly. He gestured up the street, "Lead the way."

* * *

><p>The smell of brackish water filled Boots' lungs as he and the girl made their way toward a small brick building tucked among the larger warehouses. A short, stocky boy was standing outside the entrance as they approached. Light spilled out of the doorway behind him along with the sounds of newsies drinking and carousing inside. Boots hesitated but the girl walked right up to the boy who grinned mischievously and kept his cigarette clenched between yellowed teeth.<p>

"Racetrack in there?" the girl asked.

The boy locked eyes with Boots and spat to one side before commenting, "Look what the cat dragged in."

"Pay attention, Finn. Is Racetrack in there?" the girl snapped.

"Could be," he shrugged before gesturing to Boots, "But I ain't lettin' his kind in."

Boots stepped forward at this remark but the girl put her hand on his chest. She lifted a small coin purse out from under her shirt.

"Your ma shoulda drowned you at birth," she told Finn while holding out a few coins in the palm of her hand.

"Gonna cost you more than that. 'Less you want Spot to find out you helped him get here," Finn answered smugly.

"I ain't worried 'bout Spot. Take it or leave it," the girl replied though she sounded decidedly less confident than before. Finn grabbed the coins out of her hand and stepped out of the way. The girl pulled Boots to one side as he started for the door.

"Be careful, okay? Just find Race and get the hell outta here," the girl told him and squeezed his hand in reassurance. Boots didn't have time to ask any questions before she ran off into the night.

Boots swallowed hard as he slipped through the door and kept close to the wall as he looked around the room for Race. Most of the newsies were too busy playing cards to notice his presence but a few were shooting him dirty looks. He circled the room peering through the smoky haze to find Race and tried to avoid bumping into anyone in the crowded space.

"They can smell fear, you know," a familiar voice laughed. Race nudged him in the shoulder good-naturedly despite Boots tight-lipped smile. "Where you been? That's some knot on your head."

"Spot Conlon's welcomin' committee," Boots answered sarcastically. "Let's just get out of here."

"'Fraid we don't offer cups of tea and cookies like you Manhattan boys are used to." The interruption came from a table behind where Boots and Race stood talking. Boots had seen Spot before when he'd crossed the bridge to meet with Jack. But there was something different about seeing him in Brooklyn. It was as though he was more intimidating and dangerous than before. He was leaning back in a chair with his feet propped up on the table. Despite his casual attitude Boots knew that Spot Conlon didn't miss a thing. In fact, in the split second Spot looked at him Boots felt the Brooklyn leader could see straight through him. And it wasn't a pleasant experience.

"My boys ain't accustomed to havin' strangers take the food outta their mouths, you'll have to forgive them," Spot said coolly as Boots took a cue from Race and slid into a seat at Spot's table.

"Don't look like they're sufferin' much," Race stated looking from one newsie to the next. The Brooklyn newsies were notoriously tougher, meaner, and bigger than newsies in other territories. At least the ones that surrounded Spot were.

"Wasn't aware you was runnin' things now, Race," Spot remarked. His voice didn't change in tone or volume but Boots had a feeling both he and Race were on very thin ice. Boots decided the best approach would be to keep his mouth shut. After all, Race was known for being able to talk his way out of almost anything.

"I do believe we agreed Sheepshead was my spot," Race answered easily.

Spot shrugged. "Just the same I don't remember givin' him permission to show up."

Boots felt his stomach flip flop as Spot's jaw tightened and he found himself staring at the top of the gold-topped cane Spot held inches from his face.

Race scratched a match along the warped tabletop and held it to the end of a cigar. He puffed a couple of times before commenting. "Seems to me your boys already made their point."

Spot set the cane back down next to him. "Soothed their feelings, but that don't mean I'm satisfied."

Boots continued to do his best to remain invisible and watched as Race stared up at the ceiling, the cigar smoke swirling in the air above his head.

"You know Brooklyn hospitality ain't what it used to be," Race said thoughtfully. Boots frowned at the unfamiliar word and tried to make a mental note to remember to ask Race what it meant when they got back to Manhattan. If they got back to Manhattan.

"Good thing you live in Manhattan then," Spot smiled. Boots noticed that although his mouth was smiling, Spot's eyes remained cold.

"Speaking of, we best be gettin' back," Race mentioned.

Spot took his feet off the top of the table and let the front legs of his chair hit the floor with a bang. Boots jumped at the sound but Race remained unfazed.

"Half should just about do it, then," Spot told him. He tipped back the glass of whisky in front of him, draining it in one swallow.

Race opened his mouth as though he was about to say something but thought better of it. He dug around in his vest pocket for a moment before tossing a crumpled bill and a handful of coins onto the table.

Spot didn't even look at it. "I said half."

Race yanked another crumpled bill out of his pocket and threw it onto the table, visibly miffed as Spot smirked at him. Race made a move to leave and Boots felt grateful that it seemed the conversation was over and they were going to make it out in one piece.

"One quick question 'fore you go," Spot said. "Where'd your friend get his boots?"

Race looked at Boots quizzically before answering, "His boots? How the hell do I know?"

Spot picked up one of the coins and flipped it back and forth across his knuckles. He appeared to be waiting for Boots to speak up.

"F-found 'em," Boots stammered. Lying to Spot Conlon was not the best idea but he felt obligated to the girl for helping him find Race.

"Must be lucky," Spot replied evenly. "Finding a pair of boots right after yours get stolen."

"Guess so," Boots agreed weakly.

"I'm gonna need you to leave those here," Spot explained in a way that Boots knew not to argue with.

"What the hell, Conlon?" Race sputtered. Boots just shook his head and quickly unlaced the shoes. He left them on the floor under the table as Race just stood there in wonderment.

"Have a nice walk," Spot told them dismissively.

Boots crossed the room as quickly as possible, passed through the entry, and didn't stop until Race grabbed him by the arm once they had reached the street.

"What the hell was that about?" Race asked.

Boots tried to catch his breath before answering. "There was this girl…"

"You ever notice some of the best stories start with 'there was this girl'," Race interrupted with a chuckle. Boots continued walking, not really sure of the direction he was going until Race began to lead the way back to the bridge.

"So, there's this girl. She helped me find you," Boots explained. "That's where the shoes came from."

"Well, that ain't exactly the story I thought you'd tell," Race laughed. He noticed Boots didn't even grin. "Don't worry, kid. We'll be home in no time."

"She told me not to say anything 'bout her," Boots rambled on. "How the hell did he know?"

"Couldn't tell you," Race answered. "So what was this girl like? She have a name?"

"Nah," Boots said. "She knew my name though. Even knew I was from Manhattan."

Boots heart leapt up into his throat when he heard the sound of footsteps approaching from behind them. He readied himself for another soaking when he realized it was only a kid jogging toward the two as they made their way to the walkway on the bridge.

"Racetrack!" the kid called out. He was carrying a lopsided object wrapped in what looked like a burlap bag.

"Mouse," Race acknowledged with a nod of his head.

The kid pushed the object into Race's hands. "Here. I'm supposed to give this to you."

"From who?" Race questioned. The kid only shrugged. Race handed him a penny and the kid took off at full speed back toward Brooklyn.

Race pulled a piece of twine off the top of the bag and opened it to find a hat and a pair of shoes inside. Boots instantly recognized the items as his. He pulled his hat down tightly on his head and sat down to pull the boots on. As he tried to slide his foot into the one he felt something block up the toe. It turned out to be a small rag containing the money that had been stolen from Boots earlier.

Race whistled softly. "Looks like you made one friend in Brooklyn."

"Yeah," Boots agreed.

"So this girl," Race started. "What'd she look like?"

"She weren't real pretty," Boots explained. "Real skinny with this dress that was about two sizes too big for her. Plus, her face was beat up."

Race stopped and looked at him. "She have brown hair? Kinda long and in a braid?"

"You know her?" Boots asked.

"Tay," Race answered as he began walking slowly with a thoughtful look on his face.

"Sorry?"

Race just sighed and shook his head. "Forget her, kid. She's poison."

Boots followed as Race led the way back into Manhattan territory. All he could think about was how grateful he was to be back home. He and Race walked in silence, each occupied with his own thoughts.

* * *

><p>Author's Note: Not the best and I do apologize for it. It was just something I worked on while trying to decide whether or not to continue my other story. Which is still up in the air ;-) Any reviews are welcome and appreciated. Thank you for reading!<p> 


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